


All Things Happen In Their Own Good Time

by MermaidProbs



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Big Brother Bucky Barnes, Deaf Clint Barton, Drama, Epic Length WIP, F/M, I have a thing for Bucky mentoring youth, Identity Porn, M/M, Memory Loss, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Plot With Porn, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romance, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Snarky Clint Barton, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Tony Stark Has A Heart, WS plot points are similar but come out in a different way, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidProbs/pseuds/MermaidProbs
Summary: The exhibit in the Smithsonian barely touches the surface of who James Buchanan Barnes is, and in some ways Steve's furious with that fact. Bucky gave everything, and more, and the Smithsonian had deemed it adequate to sum up everything the man was in 163 words. 163. He remembered a quote he saw somewhere, on the internet, about how if you love someone they're never really gone. But for Steve, that was half of the problem. Bucky was never gone. Even as Steve mourned him, carried on with a couple more missions with the Howlies before crashing that plane, Bucky was still alive. Suffering. It's that fact that causes Steve to lash out and break the glass exhibit.ORThe story of Bucky Barnes coming back to himself, for better and worse. And the story of the people who helped him get there.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is actually kind of an exercise of writing a relationship I have been exploring for a piece of original fiction. There's an original fiction series I have brewing in me, and one of the main relationships is a triad, and as I was in my Marvel feels with my muse, Mr. Barnes, I realized he shared a lot of the same opinions and feelings (good and bad) as one of the triad of main characters. And when I thought about my OT3 for Buck (Steve and Natasha) I realized that they, too, had some similar characteristics of the other two characters in my series.
> 
> Unsure of how I wanted that relationship to transpire for my originals, I've decided to explore how I feel it would all go down in Marvel. Plus...Bucky just needs a happy ending, OK??
> 
> This fic has the normally accepted content warnings: such as non-consensual body modification, mentions of past torture, thoughts and struggles that come with PTSD and being a POW, period typical homophobia...this fic is gonna get deep, mmkay? I'll put warnings at the beginning of chapters when things graphically come up.
> 
> This is a pretty deeply epic angsty fic, both in length and in feels. I have a goal to update it every week, so make sure to subscribe/bookmark/whatevs to get updates!

> _In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer._
> 
> _And that makes me happy._
> 
> -Albert Camus

* * *

_Let's rewind._

_Before the snap, before the other snap, before the highway, before Odessa, before the Red Room, before the Alps, before Zola, before the draft, before the Great Depression...there were just two kids. And whoo-boy, those kids knew how to get into trouble. Which...taking that into consideration, it's kinda no surprise that we're here, the end of the world getting undone, way beyond our time on this earth. But you've gotta put things into perspective._

_You see, it was when I was a teenager and kinda grew into my features and looks that people pegged me as the troublemaker. But really, most of the smarts was Steve. He's a master tactician, ya know. Not saying I did too shabby in school or anything, but Steve is what you call an instigator. He started all of it...I just...enabled it a little bit. Alright, a lot. But not until later! I had 3 girls to look after, after all. You see, my ma died when Becca was real young, and then pops died in a pararescue mission when I was 14. My sisters and me grew up on base, and they kept care of us seeing that the orphanages were so full, and it wasn't too far from where Steve and his ma, Sarah, lived in a little apartment..._

* * *

**2014**

* * *

The exhibit in the Smithsonian barely touches the surface of who James Buchanan Barnes is, and in some ways, Steve's furious with that fact. Bucky gave everything, and more, and the Smithsonian had deemed it adequate to sum up everything the man was in 163 words. 163. In other ways he's pleased, knowing that those little intimate pieces are just his alone. He remembers a quote he saw somewhere, on the internet, about how if you love someone they're never really gone. But Steve thinks that is half the problem. Bucky was never gone. Even as Steve mourned him, carried on with a couple more missions with the Howlies before crashing that plane, Bucky was still alive. Suffering. It's that fact that causes Steve to lash out and break the glass exhibit in the Smithsonian when he visits after the Winter Solider pulled him from the Potomac, trying to piece together the last 50-odd years and his place in the whole thing. He let Bucky fall. He didn't go back after the body. There was square footage devoted to Steve and his exploits in the war, but Bucky was the better man who only got 163 words. Faced with burning death in Azzano, Bucky wouldn't leave _him_. And Steve left that man to his fate for the next 50-years. He would never be able to get his hands clean.

Security guards come quickly due to the commotion. Ashamed and embarrassed by his actions, he follows them to the administration, explains who he is, and offers to pay compensation to get a new plaque remade. He has more than enough in his back pay anyway. Even makes a sizeable donation to sooth the sharp edges of the indignity of the curators. He has more money than he knows what to do with anyway. Maybe they can buy more words.

Steve walks home alone, his thoughts turning in his head over and over. He knows that Sam will want to talk about it all eventually, but the man seems to be giving Steve some space, considering everything that happened over the last couple of years. He's appreciative of it, even though he knows the bags under his eyes are beginning to show the lack of sleep he's getting, despite how the serum makes him look. He's not eating as much as his metabolism needs either, his thoughts more consumed with "Where is Bucky? Is he safe?"

He watches the streets while he walks back to his little apartment in Brooklyn, so much different than the Brooklyn he remembers though the bones are still the same. It's gentrified now...there's no way Steve and Bucky could have afforded something here now, just two guys trying their best to live through the Depression. But back then, Brooklyn was the "depraved slums" of poverty and queerness. It had been hilarious, the way S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried to get him updated to this century. Sure, technology was different. Communication was different. But better or worse, people were the same. They've demolished the bathhouses but the St George Hotel is still standing, and while Steve never had the courage to visit, he knew what was going on in those rooms in the 40s. The mooks at S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried to approach turn of the century queerness with Steve vastly uneducated that the correlation to queer culture and artistic pursuits spanned _centuries_. Bucky and Steve had been poor, but had pretty much lived as close to a bohemian lifestyle as you could get without tipping off the cops and Committee of Fourteen. Not that...not that Steve had ever _acted_ on such desires. Not until... Steve swore at himself in his head, still trying to piece together the last 2 years, and how he had screwed everything up so badly.

While he missed some of the Brooklyn he knew, he couldn't deny that some of the changes were good. Like the Thai place 3 streets down from his apartment, which he stopped into before continuing on his way to his apartment. And just to think...if he hadn't stopped, if Steve had continued on shaving off those precious 10 minutes, he might have found the Winter Solider standing in his living room, taking in everything before stepping back out through the window and closing it without so much as a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to thingswithwings and their post found here about historic Brooklyn, it was an eye-opener!: https://thingswithwings.dreamwidth.org/213805.html


	2. Chapter 2

> _Just some lost soldier who forgot he ever had a home._
> 
> _Until she gave me one._
> 
> Bucky Barnes (Earth-616)

  
  


* * *

**_2014_ **

* * *

Steve had just kicked his door closed, a fresh spring roll in his mouth, making his way into the kitchen and feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders when all that was quickly forgotten by the frighteningly unsuspecting surprise of Natasha Romanoff sitting on his kitchen counter, a gun pointed at him.

Clutching the bag of food to his chest like it was the armor that would save him from the Russian spy’s death glares, Steve regains his footing. At least he hadn’t made a _total_ fool of himself by tripping over his own feet and falling into an ungraceful heap on the floor as his body reacted waiting for his mind to catch up. “You know,” he says around the spring roll, putting the brown bag on the counter next to her as Natasha safties her pistol and put it back in a thigh holster, “Fury at least had the decency to announce his breaking and entering into my apartment with good music. Might want to take notes.”

“Well, with reflexes like that, I can see how you’d need some advance notice,” she snarks back, the bare hint of a smile on her lips. “You getting rusty, Rogers?”

“I’m much better in the field,” Steve responds petulantly. “Funny how I don’t really expect to be assaulted in my own home.”

The red-head hums, and somehow Steve feels it's judgemental. “World’s most notorious assassin has been trying to kill you for the last 2 years…” she nods, her eyes focusing somewhere in mid-field as if trying to see his point of view, “yeah, I can see how letting your hair down at home would be a given.” Playfully she pops him on the side of the head as Steve dishes out some curry into a bowl. “Always on guard, Rogers. _Especially_ now.” Natasha takes the bowl of steaming rice and rich curry from his hands, as if Steve had offered it to her, which, by his expression, he most certainly hasn’t. It was clear she didn’t care, as Natasha fishes out a potato and pops it into her mouth, breathing around the hot food. “You’ve now been in your apartment for 3 minutes. I bet you haven’t even noticed the Winter Soldier has been here,” she hedges.

Steve stills. “What?” A look of hope and surprise washes the annoyed expression away.

Natasha nods and lifts her legs enough to pull out the drawer under her, grabbing for a fork. It kind of scares Steve how casually she seems to know his kitchen. “Looks like he left about 10 minutes ago, maybe less. But he made sure the trail is cold enough I couldn’t follow it.”

“And you’re following his trail?” Steve asks, his tone all business.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha takes out another bowl and serves Steve up some of his take-out. As she does so, Steve makes his way into the living room, checking the bedroom and bathroom as well. Everything looks...normal. Just how he left it. He doesn’t understand. Walking back into the kitchen Steve takes the bowl offered to him, his expression clearly waiting for an answer. “Yeah, of course I’m following his trail. He’s the Winter Soldier. He’s dangerous,” she explains.

“He’s Bucky...” Steve starts.

“Who has been brainwashed,” Natasha interrupts.

“ _He’s remembering_.” The certainty of his words was a rock to Steve. Bucky _was_ remembering...something. He wasn’t just some brainwashed weapon. Natasha’s expression clearly states she's not so sure. “He saved me, Nat. From the Potomac. He dived in after me and pulled me to shore.”

“And moments before he was on a mission to kill you, Steve.” The sentence was firm, trying to shake some sense into the man, but the next was uncharacteristically gentle for the spy. “You have to leave some room for the idea that there may be no way to get Barnes back. Hold onto hope, if it gives you comfort to do so, but you also have to have a little bit of pragmatism.”

Steve sets down the bowl on the counter and crosses his arms across his chest. It makes his physique even more intimidating, broadening his shoulders, arm muscles tensing. “What about _any_ of this is pragmatic? My best friend, whom I lost in the 1940s, falls hundreds of miles down a ravine in the Alps, somehow unearths a couple of years ago having become the world’s best assassin in the decades since? In the realm of what is and isn’t possible, you can’t blame me for holding onto hope.”

Natasha holds his gaze, neither blinking in a strange battle of wills carried out through a staring contest. Natasha was great at staring contests...but in this one she relents. She doesn't want to break Steve, especially since she has a good feeling what went on between Captain America and the Winter Soldier just before everything exploded into flames. After a painfully long silence, she drops her gaze to her bowl, before reaching over to put Steve’s back in his hands. “Eat. You’re hangry.” Hopping down from the counter, she looks in the fridge for something to drink, her food balancing in the crook of her arm as she roots around. “Got any beer? I feel it’s a beer kind of night.”

Steve makes his way to the living room, sitting down on the couch and setting his curry on the coffee table feeling like gravity just suddenly became ten times stronger. “No point. I can’t get drunk. There’s a bottle of wine someone gave me as a “welcome to the century” present in the bottom…”

“Found it,” came the call from the kitchen, before a popping noise (so she also knew where his corkscrew was...Steve didn’t even know where his corkscrew was and he had an eidetic memory) and shortly Natasha comes walking out, two glasses of wine perfectly balanced with her own food, sitting next to Steve and placing the wine on the table. Propping her feet on the table, she leans back a moment, before sighing and reaching back for Steve’s bowl, again putting it in his hands. “Eat,” she says with a little more force behind it, and Steve finds himself doing so.

“10 minutes?” he asks, and Natasha nods, knowing what he was asking. “If I hadn’t stopped for food…”

Natasha shakes her head, swallowing a mouthful of curry. “He would have bounced before you even stepped into the building. He’s good, Steve. Scary good.”

“You’re scary good. And you lost him.”

“I _am_ scary good. I lost him because he was the one that trained me to be scary good,” she supplies.

“He _what_?”

Since the Winter Soldier showed up two years ago, a supposed defect in the New War Against Hydra, vetted by Pierce, Natasha had kept her distance, trying to fill in the gaps of her own memory (which she knew to be faulty due to similar brainwashing practices) and knowledge (acquired from missions dating back to her own defect date in the 80s). The Asset was a boogyman. The Baba Yaga of Department X. Between brainwashing sessions featuring Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and ballet lessons, Natasha remembered a time where the Winter Soldier would come in and train them in combat. And she had her own experiences with the man, years after her training. Not all of them were unpleasant. But she still hadn't made the connection that James was Bucky, the only Howling Commando to be lost in service, until shit really hit the fan. She had tested James, when he appeared in that S.H.I.E.L.D. war room, stoic soldier ready for a mission to bring down Hydra, and it had been clear that whatever had been in the past wasn’t there anymore. Natasha knew their history had been erased from James’ memory (and for good reason) and resolved herself to take him at face value (with a twist of paranoia and suspicion that kept her alive when shit hit the fan). But they _did_ have a past.

* * *

**_1950s_ **

* * *

The history of how the K.G.B., Department X, and Hydra was a twisted and complicated one, and for the time that Natasha had been with S.H.I.E.L.D. she was _still_ trying to figure out who she worked for when. Before everything had erupted into chaos and two of Department X’s programs, the Winter Soldier Program and the Black Widow Program, aka. The Red Room, went down in flames, the Soviets kinda had their shit together. The problem was they thought they were infallible, and if there was anything that could put a kink in any well-oiled plan, it was the human brain.

They weren’t dense; they knew who they had in their clutches. James Buchanan Barnes was Captain America’s best friend, sure, but he had made a name for himself without all the marketing. The army had taken a boy who had a proficiency for boxing, filled him full of information on tactics, and put a gun in his hand. Bucky had been drafted, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t good at what he did. Barnes was a sharpshooter that few could rival, which was part of what brought him to Zola’s attention in the beginning. But Zola had been smart enough to coral his experimentation to Bucky’s body. The mind was another monster and still too unknown to control. It was hubris that led Hydra to think they could try.

Where the Black Widow was the KGB’s unstoppable spy, the Winter Solider was Hydra’s unbeatable assassin, and after Natalia’s graduation into missions, the two were frequently paired. Department X had made Natalia and James and could see no cracks in their training because it wasn’t their training that had been the issue. It was Natalia’s humanity and James' nature

Bucky could lose all his memories, he could be brainwashed and programmed into something he wasn’t on the surface, but he would still be Bucky. Erksine knew the essential properties of his serum. Down to Bucky’s bones, he was a good kid given a hard hand in life and somehow learned to thrive. He would always be the protector and provider. The guy who watched out for Steve as a little runt, providing for Steve and his mom, and protecting and supporting his four younger sisters. Putting a woman trained to ignore her own needs in favor of the needs of a mission, and a man who at his base is to protect and nurture was a recipe for disaster.

Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse.

It had taken some time for Natalia to let her guard down around James. He was the monster the Headmistress would threaten if they didn’t perform their drills perfectly. But she was no longer a child. Now twenty, she was a Black Widow, able to inflict pain and death with nothing but her own body. Men twice his size had died by her bare hands alone. The walls she erected came down slowly, through the Winter Soldier bandaging her wounds, checking her bruises, asking if she was okay. Nobody in the Red Room asked Natalia if she was okay. She didn’t know how to respond the first time.

Curiosity then got the better of the red-head. It started with questions late at night as they shared a dark room. That was when she learned he had a name, James, although he refused to give his surname. He didn’t have any family. He didn’t have any friends, at least not outside Department X. Natalia didn’t think him less for it; she didn’t either. Their missions were their life, and they were proud to be serving.

As they completed more and more missions together a bond began. They watched each other’s backs. Made sure the other got out alive despite unattractive odds, defying orders when they could get away with it to keep each other safe. It was unattractive odds and the aftermath that was the first step in the wrong direction for Hydra, and the right one for James and Natalia.

Something seemed off all morning. Natalia had woken up with a stomach ache in the little bed that was in their shared hotel room the mission had designated for them. Sitting up in bed, she turned to see James asleep on his back on the floor beside. He always insisted that the floor was better than what he had “at home” and the bed was too soft, so Natalia was the one to take it. Sighing, Natalia rubbed her wrists. She couldn’t be cuffed on a mission and it always felt wrong to not cuff herself to the bed. She couldn’t sleep as well without them; the item used to control her as a child now offered her comfort as an adult. It would be decades before she saw the sick irony.

<"Something wrong, little spider?”> James asked in Russian from the floor, not opening his eyes.

Natalia swung her legs out of bed, and stood up, stretching her arms overhead. <"No, I think it is just nerves. This is an important mission,”> she replied, bending down to loosen up her back, turning side to side.

“It is,” he agreed, switching to English. It was easy to forget that James was once American, defected and fighting for the Soviets after seeing the light. His Russian was so perfect. “But you are ready.”

His assurance for her gave her confidence.

Today they would be going after an MMS operative. Russia was now frequently at odds with the Chinese since they split. The Chinese did not see how the USSR was on the side of right in the Cold War, which meant that now they were acting against Russia, they were acting against freedom and peace. The man James and Natalia would be marking tonight was someone who had been a link in a chain of information intending to subjugate a faction of Department X. After tonight he wouldn’t be a thorn in the Department’s paw any longer.

The two of them got ready for the day the way operatives did. The Soviets and Department X didn’t care much about privacy. Natalia and James were tools, not people, and they had been conditioned into that life. The only time that Natalia had given too long of looks at James naked was when his back was to her. The scarring on his shoulder was hard to look away from, and she had so many questions. Questions that now Natalia would ask in the dark of night as she and James waited for sleep. Questions he only sometimes knew the answer to, given the amnesia he suffered. He was never unkind or frustrated about not knowing; James seemed to just accept there was a whole past he would never be able to access the bulk of, and that he had a purpose now. 

As James walked from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower to get dressed, she saw the scars now. The metal arm was bugging him. She could see the muscles on his left side bunched up in a way that she’d learned over multiple missions indicated pain. It was heavy, the arm. She could still remember what it felt like when she was on the wrong side of it while training, swiping or hitting her, holding her down. Her fingers itched to sooth the muscles, the way James had tended to her wounds. But...recently, when she tried, he only shrugged it off.

“Your arm…” she began.

“It’s fine,” James interrupted. “They will see after it when we get back. It needs to be recalibrated and the tools couldn’t be taken through border patrol.”

The Winter Soldier was her commanding officer on this mission; if that was what he wanted to do, then she would leave him to it. Still, she couldn’t seem to shake the worry from wiggling into her focus throughout the day. Sometimes being spies and assassins were thrilling. Other times, it was the only opening to breach being early in the day, and having to wait in silence and stillness all day for their target to get into range. As night began to fall, the Black Widow and Winter Soldier were in position. 

The mission was simple. Capture. Interrogate. Eliminate. It didn’t go quite to plan.

Lei Meng would make his way home from his cover as a mild-mannered engineer. He wasn’t high enough on the scientific track to draw attention to himself, but he knew enough to have the right clearances for when the MSS needed information or to use him on missions. It didn’t raise any questions when he was out. Natalia and James waited in the shadows. The plan was for the Black Widow to slide down to the ground from her hiding spot, and distract Lei, while the Winter Soldier stealth his way behind, subduing the man. Years of training and missions, and Natalia still couldn’t sneak up on James; he was a legend. She didn’t know how Meng’s detail bodyguard did.

A burly man struck James from behind as the Winter Soldier went in for the hit on Meng, and as the Asset turned, the Chinese bodyguard, massive in his bulk, blocked the attack, going in for James’ vulnerable left side with a stiletto knife. In for the kill. As Natalia drew a breath, her hands reaching for Lei in front of her to subdue him, she heard the familiar sound of metal on metal. While a quick glance had shown that James had been hurt, it seemed to only be a graze as his metal elbow connected to the bodyguard’s temple, a sick crack sounding in the dim-lit alley. But the guard didn’t go down.

Natalia blocked and pushed Lei into a position that was easier for her to handle as Lei fought back to escape. The sound of a gunshot rang out behind her, but she was too focused on getting her mission directive captured. The sound of a scuffle behind her was enough indication that both men were alive for her to continue. Lei was good. Natalia was trained in martial arts, but Lei breathed them as much as he did air. They were natural movements of a man brought up in a culture to use them. The red-head took a vicious knock to the head, and a knee to her stomach, winding her. Even though her reaction was almost non-existent, it was there and it was enough of an opening for Lei, pulling Natalia into his embrace, a gun pointed to her head as they turned to look at her partner.

James was bleeding from his left side, and he was not at all amused by the sound of the gunshot. This was supposed to be a stealth mission, and regardless of people trying to mind their own business, the sound would alert _someone_.

<"Stop or she dies,”> Lei demanded in Chinese. But it was a critical mission, and Natalia and James were only tools to be used by Department X, Hydra, and the K.G.B. James didn’t stop. Backing the bodyguard into an alcove, the two men fought. The bodyguard’s gaze dropped down to James’ metal arm, and he took a step back. James only saw the decision cross the man’s feature milliseconds before he acted, and couldn’t stop it. The bodyguard pointed his gun at Lei, taking his shot, clean through the head, before turning it on himself.

Blood splattered all over Natalia’s hair and face, and the strong arms that were holding her went limp. Closing her eyes, she turned her face to the darkened sky. “Гавно”

<"Time to go, little spider,”> James murmured, now at her right, stooped down to rifle through Lei’s pockets. There was almost nothing in them, but he took the wallet and scraps of paper anyway. If luck was on their side the authorities would waste time ruling out a mugging gone wrong. Sirens could be heard in the distance and they knew they had to work quickly to get out of the scene.

James and Natalia stuck to the shadows, running as quickly as they could. Natalia grabbed some clothing left to hang on the line to dry as they passed, pressing a shirt into James’ wound as they paused to assess the escape route. Police were closing in on all sides. There was one way less dangerous than the others, but they would still be encountering cops. Nobody was supposed to know the Russians were involved. They would need to appear as least threatening as possible.

Running down the alley toward the police, Natalia pulled off her tactical suit, donning a simple dress she had pulled from the line. She stashed her weapons and wiped off the blood from her face. James did similar, though the shirt wouldn’t hide much of his metal arm. They would have to improvise. He grabbed a bottle from a nearby ledge, and Natalia and James positioned themselves in a darkened corner as Natalia pulled the collar and sleeve down, exposing her shoulder and breast. Looking up into James’ eyes, there was a moment. A flicker of something remembered, before he shut it down, pushing the bottle into Natalia’s hand, and bending down to kiss her. For a moment, just a moment, Natalia could only feel the gentleness and softness of James’ lips and smell the warm scent she had come to associate with him. Cedar smoke and earth. It was the first time he had ever kissed her.

<"Over here!”> one of the authorities alarmed the others in Chinese, and Natalia snapped back into the mission. James pushed his left side into Natalia, hiding his arm and his wound in the shadows and with her body. Natalia hiked up the side of her skirt to her waist, throwing a leg around James’ hip and moaning. James began moving his body as though he was thrusting. His right hand came up to cup her breast, both for the image, but also because deep down there was a sense of decency in James. She might not care, but something nagged at him to protect Natalia’s honor, not to let her personal bits be seen by strangers. <"Halt!”>

As two officers came into view, Natalia broke the kiss, letting out a lascivious moan and throwing her head back. She giggled, giving the picture of a drunken couple unable to control themselves. James hid his face in her neck and didn’t stop moving until Natalia’s began speaking to him, in Chinese, her voice just loud enough to carry down the alley. <"Shit! Darren, stop! The police!”>

<"The police?”> he asked drunkenly, looking over his shoulder and having the decency to look ashamed as he began “redressing.” Natalia giggled and pulled her dress closed to cover herself, not quite doing the buttons yet, and leaving enough revealed to be distracting.

The two officers had slowed their approach, looking over the two. One nudged the other, a smirk on his face as he muttered to his partner to leave the two lovebirds alone, but the other was all business. <"What is your business here?”> he asked.

<"None of yours...”> James started, taking on the role of belligerent as he buttoned his pants.

<"It’s my fault, sir,”> Natalia simpered, the two not quite yet into reach. If they knew what was good for them, they would stop where they were. 15 feet away from the super-assassin and spy, the men knew what was good for them. They stopped to assess the situation. <"I couldn’t help it. He just proposed. I got...excited.”>

<"Come on. We’ve got a job to do. These aren’t them,”> the more sympathetic officer persuaded his partner.

The more serious of the two watched them dress, his eyes lingering on Natalia’s open buttons. <"Congratulations. Move from the area. Now. It is dangerous.”> His tone was not very congratulatory, but as the officers moved away without incident Natalia would count her blessings.

They made their way back to their little rented room without further provocation. The door firmly closed behind them, James took off the stolen shirt and made his way to the bathroom for the supplies he would need to stitch himself up. Natalia leaned against the door, watching him move away, not realizing she was watching him, her fingers softly tracing her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juuuuust in case it was a little too subtle, this is a CAWS AU. Bucky has been working for SHIELD with Natasha and Steve for the last two years. They didn't know who he actually was, yet, or that he was a plant and that Pierce was Hydra until recently, however. More will be revealed in later chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

> _You are to be the new fist of HYDRA. Put him on ice._
> 
> ―Arnim Zola (Captain America: Winter Soldier)

* * *

**_2012_ **

* * *

Waking from cryostasis was never a pleasant process. In the early years, the Asset realized that the Soviets _could_ make the transition from the cryo-chamber into waking consciousness more gradual and chose not to. What use was it to ensure the mind’s safety when one was just going to wipe it and cram whatever they wanted into it anyway. Mercy was...inefficient. It took too long.

The first thing that the Asset was conscious of was the straps holding his arms and legs down. He thought he remembered that sometimes he was violent in the wake. It would be more productive to allow those muscular reactions to be stymied and restrained as they prepped the chair. He could hear a voice, familiar above the others, discussing the particulars of the mission structure. Pierce had been his handler before. He couldn’t remember how long...that information was...not required. But as the Asset breathed fresh air into stiff lungs, holding the inhale longer and longer to stretch them, wake them, the fact that he couldn’t remember such a small fact nagged at him. As his mind, feeling like slush, was trying to work its way around the obstacle, the Asset could feel a man come to stand in front of him.

The Asset opened his eyes.

And looked into familiar blue eyes. But they were the wrong blue. Too blue. The Asset wondered what eyes he was supposed to be looking into...whose eyes it was that had a touch of green in them. His handler’s facial features inspired...loyalty. Fierce loyalty, and trust. Maybe he was misremembering. It was Pierce’s eyes he was searching for. “Ah good, you’re awake,” Pierce said, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with his smile. “We have a mission for you, Soldier.”

It took a moment for the Asset to respond, but dutifully came, “Ready to comply.”

“Good. The chair is ready?” Pierce asked, turning to look at the attendees as they nodded. “This is a longer mission, I don’t want to have to bring him in to be reprogrammed too regularly. It will inspire too many questions.”

One of the attending scientists, a woman with long blonde hair, smirked. “We’re a bit more advanced in how they did it in the 90s, Secretary.” The Asset looked her over as she spoke. Threat level: low.

“The operatives of Hydra thought the same thing in the 50s.” Alexander Pierce stared the woman down. “It did not go well. He will be going up against the Black Widow _and_ Captain America. His programming must hold. Flawlessly.”

The Asset remembered bits and pieces of the Black Widow now. Traitor. Defector. Lethal. The name Captain America didn’t inspire any feelings in him. It didn’t matter, they would give him all the information he needed to know to complete his mission successfully.

“Programming a whole personality is more complicated than just mission directives,” one of the others in a white lab coat sitting behind the computer chided. A man, with sandy hair. Threat level: moderate. Likely attacks: bodily, trained – hobby. Likely kickboxing, or childhood martial arts. “This isn’t plugging in facts and carrying out a mission point A to point B. We’re asking him to think for himself and adept, carry on a facade, build a story about his life on the fly...”

The Asset remembers a time before frequent cryostasis became necessary, the fragments of the memories broken into pieces. Department X had given him a bunk, a room, a purpose past simple mission completion. Something settles inside him. Purpose. Pleasure. He feels like this was something that made him happy. “Ready to comply,” the Asset spoke, unbidden.

Pierce looked back at the man strapped to the table, his gaze considering but a smile on his face. “Eager. I like it.” The praise coming from his handler joined the happy spot inside the Asset. “He’s ready. Let’s go.”

The chair looked a little bit different from the last time he saw it. He still wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed, but gleaning from the woman scientist’s tone, the 90s had passed a while ago. Faithfully, the Asset rose after his bindings were loosened, and sat in the device. One of the attendings inserted his mouth guard, and the mechanics of the chair let out a soft sigh as it leaned back, so much more soothing than the sharp, high-pitched whir of before. The Asset braced himself, and the familiar pain of electricity shooting through his body numbed all his senses, incapacitating him. He was not alarmed. His handler would watch for threats.

It lasted longer than ever, and as the chair hissed back up into a sitting position, the Asset was breathing hard, sweat running down the sides of his temples and from his armpits. The air smelled a bit like burnt hair.

“Status report,” the woman commanded.

“Clearance,” he demanded.

The woman paused a moment before answering, “Clearance 8, Chloe White.”

“My name is Jay Matthews. Registered date of birth May 23rd, 1986, Portland, Oregon. Actual date of birth September 2nd, 1926, Topeka, Kansas. Former USSR/KGB operative. Formerly known as James Abbot, aka the Winter Soldier. Defected to the World Security Council 2006. I serve in the S.T.R.I.K.E. operative program, secret anti-terrorism faction of S.H.I.E.L.D. I have no family. I am college educated, I speak 6 languages. I enjoy the theatre, baseball, true crime podcasts...” Jay repeated dutifully.

Pierce nodded before interrupting. “Clearance 10, Secretary Alexander Pierce. Mission Report.”

Jay looked at Pierce. “Voice recognition accepted for mission report. I am the Asset, known as the Winter Soldier, the new fist of HYDRA. My cover is that of Jay Matthews. Primary mission is to infiltrate and destabilize S.H.I.E.L.D. special forces team, the Avengers, to ensure the success of Project Insight. Secondary mission: the clean and symbolic assassination of Captain America, aka Steve Rogers, to lead the disbanding of the Avengers, destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the rise of HYDRA.”

Alexander and the attendings shared a pleased look. “Now,” Pierce said, turning back to him. “Jay, how are you feeling?”

It took a moment for Jay to respond, but when he did, his posture had relaxed into something more casual, and his tone took on a musicality that the Asset didn’t have before. “Man, I’m _starving_. You got any good food around here? I have a major carb craving going on here!” he answered with a genuine smile, his facial features lightening to make his appearance more youthful and sincere.

Pierce laughed and clapped the lad on the back. “I’m sure we can get some carbs in you, the cryo has a tendency to take a lot out of you, and you’re going to need sugars and protein to kick your metabolism back into gear.” Already there was another attending, a woman, coming forward with a shirt for Jay. The Secretary turned to her. “How long before his beard fills out, we’ll need to hide his facial features into something they haven’t seen before,” he asked, meaning those who knew Bucky from before.

“We’ve been increasing his vitamin H in stasis, but growth can’t occur when he’s frozen. Given adequate nourishment, a diet high in protein and vitamin B, a week at most,” she responded, handing Jay the shirt.

  
  


Jay stood at rest, two other operatives behind him, his vision focused on mid-field as Fury spoke to the Avengers who sat around a table. A French-based cell of HYDRA was attacking British intelligence, and Pierce explained they were asking for help from S.H.I.E.L.D. via the WSC, loaning their own resources to stop the attacks – S.T.R.I.K.E. Team Echo. With Jay came Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. Even though the outward appearance was that Jay was at rest, his facial features neutral as Fury spoke, his mind was taking in everything. 

Natasha Romanoff, aka The Black Widow. Threat Level: Severe. Status: trained by the Winter Soldier who is known to have amnesia. Approach with caution, deny any remembrance of previous involvement. Keep distance. Rank: Traitor to the KGB and Hydra.

Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Threat Level: High. Status: minimal hand to hand, relies on technology for combat. Technophile. Former weapons manufacturer. Previous/current alcohol dependency. Jay’s in was via his cybernetic arm; play to Stark’s interest in technology. Rank: loose patriotic ties; ultimate ties to his own interests and agenda.

Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. Threat Level: High. Status: sharpshooter, performer. Sharp-witted and smooth-talking, though a man of little words. Near deaf. Loner. Develop a bond through competition and sniping. Rank: morally grey, loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.

And finally Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. Threat Level: Severe. Status: offensive and defensive based super-soldier, boxing, army trained, strength-based attacks. Relentless. Eidetic memory, do not remove the mask in his presence. Rank: Leader of the Avengers, unfailingly loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.

The Avengers were dressed rather casually, which was a stark comparison to how Jay’s team was dressed. Brock and Jack were both in their fatigues. Jay himself wore a more casual tactical suit, a dark mask hiding the features around his eyes, and sporting what the women of HYDRA seemed to lovingly call a “dad-beard” which obscured his features. It was itchy...but he could see a certain attractiveness in it.

“So among the four of you, and S.T.R.I.K.E. Team Echo, this mission should be far less impactful as New York?,” Fury asked, an authoritative tone holding something accusatory.

“Well, the lack of aliens and gods definitely points to less mess,” Tony suggested, glued to his phone. “Just simple, run of the mill, fascist, douchmagoos.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at Tony. “Douchmagoos? Really?”

“There are sensitive ears here, Barton. Wouldn’t want to offend the Capsical’s Victorian sensibilities!” he replied, giving a nod to Steve.

The expression on Steve’s face showed this wasn’t the first time, and he glanced down at the mission details in front of him as he responded. “You have a lot to learn about the Victorians, pal. How long is Team Echo with us?” he asked, turning the question to Directory Fury.

“As long as you need them. They’re on semi-permanent loan. The WSC said they may be called away from time to time, but only on the most extreme cases.” Fury’s tech chimed, and he brought the device up to check his message. “That’s all here. Talk. Bond. Don’t blow shit up. Or I’ll make _you_ do the paperwork this time.” Fury exited the main set of double doors, leaving Team Echo and the Avengers in a slightly awkward silence before Steve broke it.

Standing up, he walked to Jay, extending a hand. “Good to have the help of S.T.R.I.K.E. Nat and Clint speak well of the organization.”

“Nat and I worked Team Delta. Seems it’s a good way to get the baddies to realize it’s better to be goodies? Eh?” Clint teased, kicking Natasha under the table playfully. “Better benefits. 401K…”

Natasha didn’t play along. She had been watching the Winter Soldier during the entire briefing, and Jay was very aware of her eyes on him. Putting on a good-natured smile, he moved his hands from behind his back, taking Steve’s in a handshake. “Glad to help any way we can...”

He didn’t get to say more, as Natasha interrupted him. <“If Fall ends, Winter is coming,”> she said in Russian.

Jay made a confused expression. He knew what the phrase was; it was something the little Black Widows in training would tell each other, something the Headmistress had said to keep them in line. If they didn’t do as they were told, the Winter Soldier would come. But he wasn’t supposed to know that, both officially and unofficially. <“Winter eventually fades into spring,”> he responded with a shrug, the most nonsense but logical thing he could think of to say in return. Something dark flashed over her features, but she seemed to relax, even just slightly. Letting go of Steve’s hand, Jay raised his left to comb through his chin-length hair.

“Woah woah WOAH!!” Tony cried, suddenly interested. “What kind of archaic machinery is that?” Stark rose, approaching the little party. Steve also seemed to be interested, though more out of curiosity than anything professional.

“My...arm?” Jay asked, holding it out, as though it was obvious. It was obvious, right?

“Jay. Jay-man. Jaymeister. We have got to get you an upgrade! That’s some serious obsolescent Soviet technology!” he said, taking the hand and turning it, looking at it in the light.

“It’s...my arm,” he said, putting confusion in his tone. Apparently it wouldn’t take too long to bond with Iron Man.

“Yeah, but you can like…” Tony mimicked removing it, making a popping sound.

“Uh…” Jay looked at Steve as though he would have an explanation. Steve merely rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “No? I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s fused to my bone.”

“Technicality,” Tony said, waving him off. Already he was poking away at his phone, muttering to himself.

“Hey, look, man...I don’t need…” Jay started, watching Tony leave the room talking to someone named Jarvis.

“Better just leave him to it, it will at least give him something to focus on and keep him busy,” Clint replied, standing to take his leave with Natasha. “Otherwise he’ll just find new ways to put you down. It’s Tony’s way. Don’t take it personally. There’s a whole tragic rich-kid backstory.”

“Right…” Jay turned to his team. This...would be interesting.

“Again,” Steve said, looking like he was going to take his own leave, “Good to have you on the team. This is my number,” he said, holding out a slip of paper. “Let me know if you guys need anything. Are they housing you?”

Taking it, Jay looked at it a moment before slipping it into one of his pockets. “Yeah, in something they called **_The_ ** Mansion, in Manhattan. As if there’s only one…”

Steve laughed. “There is – kind of. You’ll see what I mean. It’s the old Stark Mansion, but I think Tony hardly goes there anymore. He’s busy renovating Stark Tower after the Battle.”

Jay looked to Brock and Jack, the three of them sharing a look, “Yeah, we saw some coverage on that. Looked brutal. Thanks again, for the info,” he said, patting his pocket. “Guess we’ll see you soon for strategy, yeah?”

“Of course,” Steve replied, genuinely pleased. He left the three of them in the room. They knew better than to say anything in enemy territory, but the look they exchanged said enough. No wonder none of them had any clue HYDRA was in their midst. They made it almost too easy.

Back at the tower, Natasha and Clint were in the middle of a fight.

“Aww, Nat, come on. You’ve been there…” he tried to reason.

“That’s exactly it, I _have_ been there, Clint. I _know_ him. He wouldn’t have defected. They wouldn’t have given him the option!” she insisted, pacing the hall outside the elevator.

“I do seem to recall a time, not that long ago, where you felt you didn’t have the option to switch sides,” he offered, trying to lay in convincingly.

“No,” she said, turning back to him, her expression earnest. “You don’t understand. They brainwiped him. Not brain-wash, not some kind of psychological bullshit Stockholm Syndrome torture they did to me. Electrically wiped his brain clean. Nada. Nothing. And then stuffed him in a freeze tube and put him on the shelf until they needed him again. There’s no way he could have physically escaped.”

Clint stopped her, reaching out to take her wrist. He never understood why – Natasha had her own secrets, despite their friendship now, and more in the past – it always seemed to calm her down in the few moments she was losing control. “Look, I understand the unlikelihood. But this is Fury we’re talking about. There’s no way he’d let someone into our operations without a proper vetting process. Maybe something happened on a mission, and he got away. Maybe he got passed to a different department that wasn’t as vigilant. I watched him that whole meeting, Nat. You did too. The guy checks out. S.T.R.I.K.E.’s not dumb, and it makes sense, if you think about it. It’s how I turned you…” he offered.

Natasha stopped and took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“It comes down to this. Do you trust Nick?” he asked.

Her reply came with no hesitation. “Yes.”

“You’re a spy. You know some things are just naturally on a need-to-know basis.” Clint waited for her to open her eyes back up, greeting her with a smile. “And worse case scenario... _you’re a spy_. Do some spy shit and figure it out!” That earned him a laugh. “I still think he’s an okay guy. Seems fun.” He gave her a sly look. “Could I out-shoot him?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “What is this, the superhero version of a dick-measuring contest?”

“No, I…” Clint thought about it. “No, but _now_ I’m wondering about _that_! Thanks for that.”

“A lady never kisses and tells, Barton,” Natasha replied, pulling her wrist gently from his grasp and walking down the hall.

For a minute, Clint looked put out, but soon he jogged behind her. “Okay, but saying that your life is in danger, your very life mind you, and you had to choose one of us to shoot the target…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? I must have felt inspired. I intended to write this and then sit on it for a week to then edit it...buuuut oh well. Now this way it has the same chapter count of the other fic I'm writing. Symmetry, LOL
> 
> You can find me on tumblr! amermaidnamedelliot.tumblr.com


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